


Our Personal Oval Office

by plinys



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Closets, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t every day that the future President of the United States of America locked herself away in over-sized broom closet with a button maker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Personal Oval Office

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traincat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/gifts).



It wasn’t every day that the future President of the United States of America locked herself away in over-sized broom closet with a button maker.

But then again, Leslie had always considered herself to be on a different level then her forbearers, her current situation should at least be proof of that.

In truth she blamed certain members of her campaign team (April, mostly) who had decided that rather than putting the ‘Knope 2024’papers inside the button puncher, she would turn a variety of other _colorful_ slogans into buttons – including but not limited to: _‘Knope is dope,’_ ‘ _Hell Knope_ ’ and last but not least _‘my dad took my mom’s last name because she wears the pants.’_ She’s pretty sure she has one of her boys to blame for that, but both of them were wearing the button and blaming the other so she couldn’t exactly punish them both.

Okay, she probably could have.

Instead she stole the button maker.

There’s a very precise knock at the door, which can only mean one thing, “if you let the kids in with you, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He just laughs a little as he wedges the door open, before sliding in there with her.

She can hear the worried look that must be on his face just in the way he says, “do I even want to know,” without having to look up at him.

Still, she does so anyways, “come join me in my cavern of wonders, my batcave-“

“Last time I checked if anyone of us was becoming _batman_ -“

“My oval office,” she corrects, patting the ground beside her with a smirk, “be a good future First Lady and help.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, but settles down beside her so that their shoulders are bumping, “I’d be the _first_ First Husband. You know I could get used to that title pretty easily.”

“It’s First Gentleman, actually,” she corrects, as though they haven’t had a similar discussion plenty of times before, smiling at him over the stupid button machine that’s still in her lap.

“First Gentleman, then,” he agrees, before leaning over to kiss her, a movement that’s only slightly awkward given the choice of cramped location.  

When he pulls back she gives him a faux-stern look and says, “before you get _used_ to it, we have to make plenty of these, so,” she pushes their one button machine into his lap, “get to the making.”

“Do we really have to,” Ben almost whines – it’s really a near thing.

She nods her head twice, and when he doesn’t make a move to do anything productive, instead her hand begins to fiddle with the lapels of his jacket for a moment, before looking up to meet his eyes.

From there’s it doesn’t seem to take much to turn her very productive hide away into something reminiscent of her high school years – if her high school years had involved a lot more instances of making out with super hot nerds in storage closest, rather than just far too many hours spent aggressively campaigning for student body president.

She had won, of course, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was her very hot husband was wearing far too many buttons for spontaneous closet sex to become a thing, and extremely intense make out sessions were become a close compromise. She didn’t even care that the button maker was still pressed between them, digging into her thighs. (If she was being honest, it helped the high school fantasy play out.)

“Stop thinking so much,” he says against her lips.

“I’m thinking about you if it helps,” she offers before resuming what they were doing.

As far as Leslie was concerned they could have kept like that the rest of the day, in fact they really should have.

Had it not been for one slight interruption.

Their very hot and steamy makeout session, that she had really been enjoying, is interrupted far too soon by a knock at the door that she could have sworn was trademarked by the man currently pressed up against her.

Then again, this wouldn’t be the first time Ben had failed to trademark something of his.

She arches an eyebrow in his direction, but he just silently shrugs his shoulders.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I know whose really out there,” Leslie calls at the door.

The person on the other side doesn’t even hesitate before groaning and saying, “obviously since dad’s in there with you.”

“Then why are you knocking?”

“Ms Perkins set me because, and I quote,” their daughter does the quoting voice very well, might even have a career in acting if she doesn’t follow her parents footsteps into politics, “you need to go save the button maker from your parents before they make it a weird sex toy like the _rollerblades.”_ Ben stifles something that sounds a bit like laughter into her shoulder, but it might have been a moan, and after their clear failure to reply she speaks up again, “I’m _literally_ ,” they really needed to stop letting her hang around Chris, “scarred for life, please don’t make this any worse.”

Leslie tries to say something, but at this point it’s more likely to come out as laughter than anything else, and it’s Ben that manages to say, “we’ll be out in a minute, princess.”

There’s more groaning, and what sounds like an overly exaggerated gagging noise before she says, “just remember being president pays less than your current combined incomes, and some of us would like to go to college one day without new siblings showing up to ruin everything,” followed by extremely loud stomping feet heading in the other direction.

“We should probably return that before they send somebody else.”

“Or we could get back to what we were doing,” she counter-proposes, running a hand down his backside.

“You know, she does make a good point,” Ben starts to say, a smirk growing on his lips, not making any actual move to separate.

“She’s too like you, this is our real problem.”

“Maybe you were right before we have buttons to make and-“

“Are you serious right now?”

“From an economic standpoint-“

“Ben.”

“Yeah dear?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

This time at least he listens.  


End file.
